


i was not born to drown

by winteryknights (BlackcatNamedlucky)



Series: decide on us [2]
Category: 9-1-1 (TV)
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Panic Attacks, Post-Episode: s03e15 Eddie Begins, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, and brief description of, just in case, tagging for
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-17
Updated: 2020-12-17
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:42:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28122537
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlackcatNamedlucky/pseuds/winteryknights
Summary: He makes it to the room, at least, before the dredges of his will leave him. He sits on the edge of his bed, head in his hands and silent tears rolling down his face as he listens to the tapering-out rain on the roof and the murmured conversation of Buck and Pepa in the other room.
Relationships: Evan “Buck” Buckley/Eddie Diaz
Series: decide on us [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2077251
Comments: 22
Kudos: 193





	i was not born to drown

It starts, as many things do, with a lie.

Eddie’s fine. He’s fine. Tonight was bad, but he made it out, he’s alive, he’s going home to his son, and he’s _fine_.

And maybe there’s still ice in his veins, maybe his lungs are still burning for oxygen, maybe he can still hear Shannon’s voice echoing in his mind and the scrapes on his cheek are still stinging from the salt of his tears, but, _he’s fine_.

Honestly, he’s not really even sure he’s expecting anyone to _believe_ that lie, but he says it anyway. Hopes that saying it enough times to enough people will make it true. It doesn’t, but at least it gets everyone to leave him alone.

And maybe that’s the last thing he needs, but right now, sitting in the stark locker room, the spartan architecture of the firehouse looming over him, it’s the only thing he can ask for. He almost gets it, too, until Buck (and, really, who else would it be but him?) finally breaks him down, and he doesn’t even mean to do it.

He’d dawdled, on his way out, shooting Eddie concerned looks and every so often looking like there was something he’d wanted to say, but Eddie hadn’t prompted him so, eventually, there was no longer a point in lingering. But he stands in the doorway a beat longer than necessary, eyes filled with a worry deeper than Eddie had seen from anyone in longer than he likes to think about, then says “Hey, man, if you need anything just call me, alright?”

Eddie crumbles.

And so it starts, as many things do, with the truth.

“I can’t be alone,” he sobs, a broken thing that fights its way out of his throat, all teeth and claws and venomous desperation, and he folds in on himself, collapsing like a marionette whose puppeteer had abandoned him in the middle of a show, the weight of his world crashing down on his shoulders. He presses the heels of his palms to his eyes and tries to suppress the heaving sobs that threaten to shake him apart, his bones those of a ship caught in a storm, but every ounce of his strength has left him. It’s a fruitless affair.

He barely hears the _thump_ of Buck’s bag hitting the floor before the man is beside him, close enough to reach out and touch, but he’s not. He’s not and _God_ Eddie needs him to, needs to remember that he’s _on_ solid ground, not under it.

“Okay,” Buck breathes out, “okay, I’m not going anywhere,” he says, and a fresh wave of sobs rolls over Eddie, pushing the breath from his lungs and choking out any that he tries to take before they reach his throat. “I’m going to touch you now, okay? because I need you to sit up for me so you can breathe,” Buck says, and Eddie can hear him shifting, and then a body presses against his side and a hand steadies itself on his chest and gently pushes him upright. The gasps for air are fuller, now, not quite so forced. “Okay, good, can you breathe with me, Eddie?” he asks, and Eddie tries to nod, a stilted agreement.

Buck breathes deeply and Eddie tries to match the beats, ragged and frayed at first, slowly evening out into something steadier, until the hand on his chest moves to bring Eddie’s arm over Buck’s shoulders.

“Let’s get you home,” Buck says, sliding his free arm around Eddie’s waist and helping him stand. He leans to grab Eddie’s duffel off the bench and slips it onto his shoulder, then again to retrieve his own from the floor. 

He guides them out the door and towards the lot, pausing only when Bobby stops them to talk. Eddie hides his face in Buck’s shoulder and feels the arm around his waist tighten as Buck reassures Bobby that Eddie will be okay, he’ll make sure of it. 

When they get outside, Buck leads them to his Jeep, mutters that he’ll get Chimney to drive the truck over to Eddie’s in the morning, and throws their bags in the back before helping Eddie into the passenger seat.

The drive is filled with an oppressive quiet, despite the low hum of traffic on slick roads and the buzz of whatever college talk show Buck has his radio turned to. This quiet rests in the weight of the words unsaid between them, the pleas and reassurances and almost-revelations, the maybe-confessions that die before they reach either of their lips. It’s heavy and drowsy and melts together with the late-night (or is it early morning?) headlights that pool in Eddie’s sleep-blurred eyes.

It’s not a long drive, not really, but it feels like hours before they reach Eddie’s house, the only one on the block with light still pouring from its windows, and this sends a sudden wave of guilt rushing through Eddie. He tries not to let it get to him, tries to keep his breathing slow, his hands steady, but Buck notices, of course he notices. He turns off the car and reaches over, laying a hand on Eddie’s shoulder, illuminated only by the fading glow of the headlights, the faint halo of warm light spilling from the window.

“It’s okay to need help,” he all but whispers, and he sounds so goddamn sincere that Eddie’s guilt floods out of him.

He’s just tired, now, _so_ tired, an exhaustion that aches deep in his bones, as though his skeleton is hewn from lead. It’s a fight, dragging himself out of the car. He leans heavily against the hood while Buck gets their bags from the back, _both_ of their bags, but he doesn’t have it in him to protest, doesn’t have the time anyways before Buck is locking the Jeep and slipping his arm around Eddie’s waist again, leading him up the path to the porch.

They’re greeted at the door by Pepa, who takes one look at Eddie and ushers him in, pulling him in for a tight hug. He goes willingly, sinks into her embrace for as long as he’s able before she’s pulling away and ordering him down the hall to his bedroom. The stern tone of her voice is betrayed in its slight tremor, and Eddie thinks, not for the first time, not for the last, that the chasm between his righteousness and his regret might never lessen.

He makes it to the room, at least, before the dredges of his will leave him. He sits on the edge of his bed, head in his hands and silent tears rolling down his face as he listens to the tapering-out rain on the roof and the murmured conversation of Buck and Pepa in the other room.

It’s an empty cry, born of the inability to do all else. The cry of someone who has given all they have left.

It’s how Buck and Pepa find him, a few minutes later, her to say goodbye, him to insist on staying. Not like Eddie would argue on that anyways, but still, it’s nice that he cares enough to be steadfast in it.

When Pepa leaves, Buck sets their bags down by the door then kneels in front of Eddie, starting to unlace his boots, waving away his weak protestations.

“Just let me take care of this,” he says, “you’ve dealt with enough today, just let me take care of this.”

The words feel warm, lodged somewhere between his heart and his stomach, swelling and pulsing against his ribcage as Eddie watches Buck pull his boots off.

Buck gives Eddie the dignity of stripping out of his own jeans, shedding his own boots and pants in the meanwhile, then flicks off the light as Eddie crawls under the covers and joins him a moment later.

Eddie finds himself immediately seeking the other man’s warmth, moving until they’re little more than tangled limbs and beating hearts.

He feels Buck drop a kiss in his hair and presses one to his clavicle in return.

It raises questions that will need to be answered, in some nebulous future. Conversations that will need to be had, a wellspring of desires to be explored. All will come in time, as it always does. The peach-hued haze of dawn will see to that.

But right now, in the witching hour’s quilt of indigo and silver, none of that matters. Not in the safety of Buck’s embrace; someone he trusts from the depths of his heart, there to catch him if he goes overboard again.

**Author's Note:**

> this wasn’t what I intended to write when I sat down! not really! but this is what came out anyways! I hope you enjoyed :)  
> if you’d like to chat you can find me on tumblr at the-sneering-menagerie (where I now actually have content from this show! ...sort of)  
> thanks for reading!


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